


How To Save Your Best Friend (and also maybe the world)

by theaceupmyownsleeve



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Book/Movie 3: The Death Cure, Canon-Typical Violence, Crank Newt (Maze Runner), Cranks (Maze Runner), Dubious Science, Finding A Cure, Fix-It, Flare Cure, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Thomas (Maze Runner), In spite of the chapter titles I have never seen Friends, Insanity, Medical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, Page 250 (Maze Runner), Page 250 (Maze Runner) Rewrite, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Rewrite, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Suicide attempt tw but it's what happens on page 250, The Death Cure Spoilers, The Flare, Thomas is stubborn, Trauma, Unless you really want to read romance into it, WICKED | WCKD (World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department), WICKED | WCKD is Not Good, in that case who am I to stop you, interpret away my dudes, the author has 5 braincells left guys, who am I kidding everyone important survives this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaceupmyownsleeve/pseuds/theaceupmyownsleeve
Summary: A rewrite of page 250, because I am stubborn and so is Thomas.Please read the tags for trigger warnings. I don't have anything in this fic that isn't already in Canon, but I want to be extra sure no one's mental health is negatively affected by this.
Relationships: Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. The One Where He Doesn't Kill His Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this in 2014, right after being wrecked by reading my favorite character's death. I have fixed all of the crappy middle school writing errors (I hope.)
> 
> Some real dubious science, since I knew jack about medical science when I wrote this, and still know jack about it. 
> 
> I am putting off writing for a class with this, so who knows how many chapters you'll get tonight. One? Two? All of them?  
> I don't even know how many chapters there are in this, but probably not more than three.

“KILL ME!” and then Newt’s eyes cleared, as if he had gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. “Please, Tommy, _please.”_

“Newt…” Thomas whispered, staring up at his friend’s face through blurring eyes. “You know you’ve been a great friend, right? You’ve been the best.”

Newt’s face softened, his hands trembling where they covered Thomas’s beside the trigger. “If only I had been better.” His voice came out cracked and broken. “Just get on with it, Tommy. For once in your bloody stupid life, don’t overthink it.”

“I meant what I said.” Thomas tightened his hand on the gun, steeling himself. “Just know I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Good.”

And he slammed the butt of the gun against Newt’s skull. 

A soft cry escaped his lips as he fell forward, collapsing unconscious to the dirty ground.

The gun clattered from Thomas’s numb hands, his mind rattling in painful circles. He could never shoot Newt. Even to save him from a lifetime of horror at the hands of the Flare. 

No matter how much Newt begged.

Thanking whoever was listening for the steady rise and fall of his friend’s chest, he hooked his arms around Newt’s shoulders and, lurching, dragged him back to the van.

“He’s coming with us,” he told a bewildered looking Lawrence, “to WICKED headquarters.” He did not trust WICKED farther than he could throw them, but the slim chance that they had not been lying about a cure was the only hope he had. 

“You can’t take a Crank to WICKED headquarters!” 

“Watch me.” Lawrence opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas’s glare stopped him cold. Maybe it was the cold desperation he knew was written all over his face, or maybe it was the shaky certainty that he _would_ use the gun on Lawrence, just to get his friend to safety. 

“For crying out loud, you’re an idiot. You’re all idiots,” he muttered, but he gunned the engine all the same.

The rest of the ride was fairly peaceful. Most of the Cranks were too busy fighting one another to notice the van. He tried not to wonder whether Newt had become that violent during his time on the street. 

Back at the Berg, no one dared to question Thomas. They sprang out of the way, wilting under the withering glare he directed at them as he stalked back to his room, Newt in tow.

Of course, that begged the question of where he would _put_ Newt. No one else would hesitate to shoot him if he attacked them. Maybe even shoot both of them. 

He eyed his sparse bedroom, the cot he slept on, the meager bedside table. It was not as if he could handcuff someone with the strength of the Flare behind him to the wimpy furniture.

That left only the closet. 

With a long suffering sigh, Thomas dragged him into the closet, throwing the few hangars and outfits that still hung there over his shoulder. It took him a few moments to arrange Newt’s limbs so nothing was sticking out of the closet or bent at a weird angle. Swallowing against his dry throat, he did his best not to look at the swollen knot on his friend's temple. 

After what felt like hours, he stepped back from the door and turned the lock. Not even bothering to take his shoes off, Thomas collapsed onto his bed and scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to claim him. 

As if.

The images of Newt’s screaming madness was now branded in his mind, right alongside the blood drenched memories of Chuck’s final moments.

Sleep came in fits, if at all.

He was awake, staring at the ceiling with dry eyes when the door swung open the next morning. 

“Rise and shine, kid,” Lawrence chanted, clapping with each word as he stepped towards Thomas’s bed. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. We’re ditching your butt at the gate and then getting the hell out of there. No offense.” 

“None taken.” Thomas groaned and swung his legs off the couch. “How far will I have to walk to get there?”

“A few miles. Don’t worry, I don’t think you’ll have too many Cranks to deal with— it’s gotten cold out in the wilderness. Might see a few angry moose, though, wolves might try to eat your legs off, nothing much. Speaking of Cranks, where’s yours?” Lawrence scanned the room as if he had expected Thomas to stuff Newt under his bed. “All the guards were on high alert last night. Worried we’d wake up to a berserk Crank chewing our faces off, but,” he gestured to his own face, smiling without humor, "as you can see, all was quiet. Didn’t know Cranks slept.”

Thomas wordlessly pointed towards the closet.

Lawrence shook his head. “You kept him in your closet?!?” 

“Where else would I have kept him?”

“You shouldn’t have,” he grabbed Thomas’s shoulder, spinning him around to stare him in the face. “He’s no better than an animal now. He certainly isn’t your friend anymore. What are you going to do if WICKED can’t cure him?” From the tone of his voice, it was clear that it was the only outcome Lawrence expected. 

Thomas shook his head, staring at his shoes, but Lawrence did not wait for an answer.

“A coat and a backpack are waiting for you at the cargo door. You’ve got food and water. We want to make sure you have a nice, enjoyable hike— relish the joys of nature and all that.” 

“Thanks.” Thomas’s voice sounded hollow, even to himself. 

And then came a scrabbling, like nails on a wood. A rat?

Both Thomas and Lawrence stiffened as they realized at once what it was. 

“Hello? Where am I?” Newt’s muffled voice sounded panicked, disoriented. “Anybody?” The closet door rattled as a weight struck it from the other side. 

_“Anybody?!”_ The word rose an octave, high with fear, and the door shook again. “Someone get me out! _Alby!?”_

Thomas sucked in a breath.

"Friend of yours?"

"Not anymore." 

“Do something,” Lawrence hissed.

Thomas stepped over to the door and laid a hand on it, wishing he could somehow do more. “It’s me, Newt. You’re safe.”

A tense pause.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah, Newt. It’s me. I brought you here, and you’re safe, we just can’t let you out yet.” 

“Why not?” The sharpness in his tone held none of Newt’s usual warmth. 

“Newt, you’re sick. I couldn’t kill you, but—”

“You should have.”

“Newt—”

“Now let me out!” 

Thomas leapt back as an awful banging came from the other side of the door. Wood rattled against hinges, but held. 

“LET ME OUT!” 

“I can’t!” He exchanged a desperate look with Lawrence, who looked like he was considering fleeing the room altogether. 

“LEMME OUT, TOMMY! THIS AIN’T SHUCKIN’ FUNNY!” 

“How are you going to get him to WICKED HQ like that?” 

He bit his lip, racking his brains for a solution. Any solution. “Do you have any sedative?” he asked Lawrence, an idea suddenly forming, “I hit him over the head the first time, but I don’t think being constantly concussed is good for him.”

The man let out an audible groan, before clapping Thomas on the shoulder. “Well, since I can’t stop you from messing with Cranks, I might as well help you. I’ll be right back."

“Thank you!” Thomas had to raise his voice over the new onslaught of yelling. 

“BLOODY SLINTHEAD! LET ME OUT!”

It was all Thomas could do to sink down onto his cot and cradle his aching head in his hands, trying to block out the screaming, both inside his head and out. The knot in his throat was rising, threatening to choke him, his reddened eyes burning and muscles aching—

“Look alive, kid, I’ve got your sedative.” Lawrence jogged back into the room, a small syringe cradled in his hands. His expression was deadly serious as he looked down at Thomas. “I’m only going to ask you this once.”

“What?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve already told you. Newt’s with me.” 

“No, not that,” Lawrence sighed, “I wanted to ask you if you were sure about the plan. I mean, everything I know about WICKED is rotten. They kidnap, torture, murder— do just about anything to get what they want. Seems crazy to let you waltz in there all by yourself.”

Thomas knotted his hands into his shirt. “I’ll be fine. Just make sure you come back for me and Newt.”

“You’re either the bravest kid I’ve ever met or just plain crazy.” He shook his head. “Or both. Anyway, go get yourself a shower and fresh clothes. There must be some in the lockers. Did you—”

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out as Newt shouted louder. “COWARD! THAT’S WHAT YOU ARE, A BLOODY COWARD!”

“Newt, I’m right here, you don’t need to scream—”

“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU, ANYWAY? I TELL YOU TO STAY IN THE GLADE, AND YOU RUN INTO THE MAZE! I TELL YOU TO KILL ME AND YOU LOCK ME IN A BUGGIN CLOSET! Some friend _you_ are.” The last words were spat with enough venom to kill.

Lawrence grimaced. “Nice friend you got there, kid. I’ll help you with knocking him out.”

“Uh… thanks?” How was he supposed to respond to that?

“I open the door, you grab him. Then I shoot him up with sedative. Deal?”

Thomas nodded. 

“Count of three. One... Two... Three!” Lawrence flung open the door, sending a very angry Newt tumbling to the floor. 

Thomas sprang upon him, trying to pin down his flailing limbs. It was like trying to get a cat into a carrier. Not that Thomas had ever owned a cat. 

Newt writhed in his grip, cold eyes wild. 

A chill touched his spine at the sight. What if Lawrence was right? What if this was all Newt would ever be again? 

Knuckles to his jaw jerked him immediately out of his reverie, his head snapping back as Newt took advantage of his momentary hesitation. 

“What are you doing, Thomas!? Grab him!”

His ears ringing, Thomas leapt upon Newt’s legs, pinning them to the floor. Stretching, he could just barely get his arm, but his other one?

“I got it.” Lawrence brought his knee down on his Newt's wrist. “Just keep hold of the right one as best you can!”

“Let me go, Tommy!” Newt cried out, flailing against Thomas’s grip, “Very funny, bringin’ me back here! Couldn’t save your so called friend from goin’ cannibalistic? I ought’a kill you! I hate yo-”

Then his eyes rolled back into his head as the needle pierced his neck.

Thomas collapsed to the floor beside him, relief washing over his body. 

“I ain’t even gonna ask,” Lawrence said, “The Crank’ll sleep awhile. You go take a shower." He smirked, shaking his head, "You look almost as bad as he does.” 

\---

Thomas fought back a wave of nausea as the Berg pitched.

They were landing, and all that kept Thomas from plummeting to the ground prematurely was his white knuckled hands on the Berg’s metal railing. His balance was worse than usual because Lawrence had strapped Newt’s body to him like a backpack, and his friend’s head flopped lifelessly over his shoulder, sending him just enough off kilter that he did not trust himself to stand on his own. 

The Berg pitched again, and Thomas willed the enormous metal contraption to land faster. Lawrence had warned him that he now had less than four hours to get Newt to WICKED before the sedative wore off, and the trek would take even longer now that he was carrying his friend’s catatonic body. Weeks of wandering the streets had made Newt thin— too thin— and his jutting bones jabbed against Thomas’s back with every shake of the Berg. 

He silently thanked Minho for the training as a Runner. It was currently the only thing keeping Thomas from collapsing backwards onto Newt.

“Good luck, kid,” Lawrence piped up, appearing next to him at the railing. “I’d tell you to be careful, but you’re not an idiot, so I won’t. Good luck with the Crank.”

Thomas gave him a tight smile, hoping for one in return, but Lawrence’s expression did not budge an inch. He suppressed an eyeroll. “Right then, so I’ll get the device planted as soon as I can, then I’ll comm you. And I’m sure everything will go down with no problems, right?”

Lawrence snorted. “I’ll have little lizards flying out of my nostrils if we have no problems,” his voice softened, “Now get,” He leaned forward to hand Thomas a thick coat. “Once you’re out there, go that way." He pointed towards the edge of the forest, where the snow dusted trees plunged the world into darkness. 

Not trusting himself to say goodbye, Thomas slipped the coat around himself and Newt. 

And he jumped.

\---

Thomas’s feet were numb as he trudged down the snowy hill. He was still within his four hour window, so he did not have to worry about Newt waking up quite yet, but his dead weight had made it hard to walk, and he was pretty certain that his friend had drooled on his shoulder. 

A scuttling sound met his ears, like the footsteps of an insect, and he froze. A beetle blade sat on a nearby tree, watching him with its little red camera eyes. No doubt sending footage to WICKED security.

He waved at it, trying not to think about the fact that he was less than ten minutes away to subjecting himself to the whims of whoever was watching.

The path up to the WICKED complex was covered in watery patches of half melted, dirty snow, and the scattering of wilted weeds that had dared to poke their heads up through the ice. There were no footprints in the wet mud but Thomas’s own.

Why had no one come out to greet him yet? Surely, WICKED knew he was here by now.

But as he reached the glass doors, there was no sign that the compound was even inhabited. 

Thomas took a long, slow breath, feeling ice forming in his gut. Was he really going to go back? This was the very place he had broken out of, so long ago. Did his return mean that Chuck’s death was in vain? The phantom image of the boy’s face flashed up in front of his eyes. Another friend he had failed. 

Well, he would not fail Newt. Not if there was anything he could do.

Gritting his teeth, he knocked on the cold smooth plane of one door.

Almost immediately, the sound of clicking locks echoed through the air, the frosted door sliding back to reveal Janson.

Rat Man.

He gave a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, extending his hand for a handshake. “Welcome back, Thomas,” he said, the artificial kindness in his voice chilling Thomas to the marrow. “No one believed me, but I’ve been saying all along that you’d return. I’m glad you made the right choice." Then his beady eyes focused on the unconscious boy draped across Thomas’s back, and his expression soured. “Who’s that?”

“I’m surprised you don’t remember Newt.” Thomas folded his arms, trying not to snarl the words. “Then again, why would you? You only thought of him as a control subject, after all.” The last time Janson had seen Newt, he had been reading his name off the list of those that were not immune to The Flare.

“Ah, yes. Subject A5. Named after Isaac Newton. I do remember him. Still holding on, I see? Not past the Gone?”

“Let’s just get on with it,” Thomas muttered. He would play this part to Janson and the rest of WICKED, but he did not have to like it.

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Janson stepped back and bowed slightly, rubbing his hands together in a way that reminded Thomas of how rats washed their whiskers, “After you, Thomas.”

Shifting Newt more securely on his back, he walked past his former enemy and into the lair of WICKED. 


	2. The One Where They Discuss Vivisection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas takes Newt to WICKED headquarters, but Ratman in less than happy to see a Crank in his lab.  
> Newt is even less happy to hear that the final cure will involve removing Thomas's brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just researched when the Maze Runner is supposed to take place. Apparently it's 2020.  
> I wish that fact surprised me.

The lobby had a wide open floor plan, dotted with brightly colored couches and chairs, but the forced whimsy did little to ease Thomas’s anxiety. 

He was going back to the people that had imprisoned him. Willingly. He could have easily made that choice on his own, but now it was not just his own life he was endangering. If anything happened to Newt, he did not know what he would do with himself. At least he knew Minho was somewhere else, presumably as safe as he could be.

“I thought we would spend a few minutes in my office.” Janson’s words jolted Thomas back into the present. “Without the Crank." He glanced over Newt, his lip curling with disgust. "I can call someone to ship him to the Crank Palace for you, if you don’t want to do it yourself.

“He’s not just some Crank,” Thomas snapped, meeting the Ratman’s beady eyes with a sharp glare. “Newt’s the same as us. He’s _my_ best friend, and _my_ responsibility, but _you_ were the one who tested on him! All of you! I know you never meant for him to survive, but you know what?” He stepped up to poke Janson in the chest. “I don’t care.”

“We knew he was not immune, but it was a risk we had to take.” He spread his hands. “The death of one for the survival of the many.”

“Right,” Thomas spat. “The death of _one._ ” 

Janson shrugged.

“Listen up,” Thomas raised his chin. “You sentenced him to death. It is WICKED’s fault he has the Flare, so it’s WICKED’s responsibility to cure him. You try to take him from me, you try to send him back to the Crank Palace, and I will go straight back to Denver.” 

“Very well.” He shrugged, spreading his hands wide. “I’m sure you are aware that I can do this with or without your consent, but having you on board certainly saves money on sedatives.” He grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “That was a joke, Thomas. Don’t look so worried. I’m not a monster.”

Thomas arched an eyebrow.

“And I’m terribly sorry about what happened in Denver. A shame to lose a city with such potential. All the more reason we need to get this done and get it done quickly.”

He could feel the fight leave his body at the Ratman’s words. There was more at stake than just Newt, but hopefully one solution could fix everything. “What is it you have to do?” 

"Allow me to tell you in my office. If you'll come with me." 

Thomas nodded and followed Rat Man, eyeing the crooked portraits of Chancellor Paige they passed as they walked down the halls. “Am I ever going to meet the chancellor?” He finally asked after the fourth one, curious.

“Chancellor Paige is very busy,” Janson answered, “You have to remember Thomas; completing the blueprint and finalizing the Cure are only the beginning. We’re still organizing the logistics of getting it out to the masses. Most of the team is working hard at it as we speak.”

“What makes you so sure this will work? Why just me?”

The smile Janson gave him showed even more much of his front teeth, further cementing Thomas’s impression of an excited rodent. “I _know,_ Thomas, I believe it with every ounce of my being. And I promise you’ll get the credit you deserve.”

Thomas remembered what Newt had shouted at him, with such madness in his voice _. Always got to be the hero, the one people remember!_ “I don’t want any credit.”

“Sure you do.” 

Thomas opened his mouth to retort, but he was cut off as Janson stopped short. 

“Here we are,” he said, pushing open the office door he stood before. “These are my associates,” he stepped aside two reveal two people; a man and a woman, each dressed in green nurse’s scrubs. “Doctor Wright,” he pointed towards the woman, “is our lead psych, and Doctor Christensen is our lead physician. We have a lot to discuss, so pardon me if I’m short on introductions.”

“Why am I the Final Candidate?” Thomas interrupted. 

“Excellent question,” Janson’s eyes glittered, “We had a handful of, pardon the term, subjects slated in the beginning to... compete for this honor. Recently it was narrowed to you and Teresa. But she has a way of following orders that you don’t. Your tendency toward freethinking is what ultimately decided that you are the Final Candidate.”

A bitter taste rose in Thomas’s own mouth. Every time he had tried to rebel against them, he had been playing right into WICKED’s hands. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Some patience, please,” Janson said, smiling mildly and adjusting his spectacles infuriatingly slowly. “This won’t take long. Keep in mind that collecting the Killzone patterns is a delicate operation. We’re dealing with your mind, and the slightest mishap in what you’re thinking or interpreting or perceiving can render the resultant findings worthless.”

“Yes,” Doctor Wright piped up, “I know A.D. Janson told you about the importance of coming back, and we’re glad you made the decision.”

Doctor Christensen cleared his throat, talking over her. “I don’t know how you would’ve made any other decision. The whole world’s on the verge of collapse, and you can help save it.” The judgement in his eyes as he glared at Newt was palpable. 

“So you say.” Thomas said slowly. Every nerve ending in his body tingled, urging him not to trust Ratman, to take Newt and flee. 

“And, you’ll help save your friend,” Doctor Wright added, nodding towards Newt. “May I?” 

Thomas backed away from her grasping hands. 

“You can trust me,” she sighed. “Please. The next information we might give you may cause your knees to buckle, and I would prefer it if you were not crushed by your unconscious companion.” 

Wordlessly, Thomas untied Newt himself and eased his motionless form into the chair the doctor indicated. He kept his gaze fixed on Newt as Rat Man cleared his throat, as if he was steeling himself to say something unpleasant. “Everything is ready. But there’s still a little more to tell you so you can understand this decision you’ve made.”

“A little more to tell me? Isn’t the whole point of the Variables that I don’t know everything? Aren’t you going to throw me in a cage with gorillas or something? Maybe make me walk through a field of landmines? Dump me in the ocean, see if I can swim back to shore?” His voice rose, dripping with bitter notes, and Newt shifted beside him, his eyes flickering wildly beneath his eyelids as if he was looking around for the source of the noise. 

“Thomas, are you listening?” Janson snapped as Thomas turned away from him entirely. 

Thomas found his hands trembling as he reached to push Newt’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Hang on, I think he’s waking up.” 

“He can wait, Thomas. He’s just a Crank, and you are our _Final Candidate.”_ He clapped his hands twice to emphasize his point. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait.” 

“I assure you, it cannot.”

“Shuck off,” Thomas groaned. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“As if you are one to talk!” Janson reached to grab his jaw, hard enough to bruise. Wrenching him around until their faces were inches from one another, his lips pulled back from his teeth, sending a waft of foul breath into Thomas's nose. “Listen to me, Thomas, and listen well. The final blueprint is inside your brain.”

He shoved Thomas backwards into the chair beside Newt, so hard that his head hit the wall behind him. Without the gripping hand, his jaw fell open, slack, as the very brain Janson had indicated misfired all of its synapses at once.

He had opened his mouth to reply, or maybe just to repeat Janson’s statement dumbly, when there was an enormous gasp from his left, and Newt surged awake, coughing. 

“Newt!”

“What the bloody he—” The curse froze in Newt’s throat as he saw Ratman, and he froze like a deer in the headlights. “Tommy, where are we?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“Welcome to WICKED. headquarters, Mr. Newton,” Janson said, holding out a hand for Newt to shake. 

He pointedly ignored it, glaring with red rimmed eyes. “Why am I here? What unethical experiments could you possibly have left to do to me? You yourself told me I was just a control subject. Can’t you just kill me and be done with it?” he snarled. 

“Well, your friend,” Janson pointed at Thomas, “dragged you here, and seems rather adamant that we help you. It seems you will be the first to receive the cure, Mr. Newton.”

Newt rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest. “Forgive me for bein' skeptical, but when last we met, you told me that there _was_ no cure. With no small amount of apathy, you laid out all the deadly details of how I was going to die slowly, horribly, frothin' at the mouth and eatin' my friends’ nose off, and you could not help me.” He stood slowly, eyes locked with Janson. “Couldn’t help or wouldn’t help?” he hissed, and spat in his face. “A pity I can’t infect you, slinthead. ”

A plastic smile freezing over his face, Ratman reached into his sleeve and pulled out a freshly pressed handkerchief. He wiped at his cheek, his eyes glittering with cold malice. “As we were explaining to Thomas here, he has the cure.”

“In my brain.” Thomas crossed his arms, slouching glumly in his chair. 

“Of course, if you are unwilling to be cured, we can always kill you now. It will save us the hassle.”

“No!” Thomas shouted.

At the same time, Newt replied, “If you think you can cure me, you’re welcome to try.” Then he held up his hands, his eyes widening. “Sorry, Tommy could you repeat what you just said? I think I might've hallucinated that one." 

“The cure is in my brain.”

“The one time I’m hopin' for a bloody hallucination,” he groaned, dropping back onto his seat and burying his head into his hands. “I have a headache.”

“Unsurprising. With how you’re acting, I would imagine the Flare has already consumed quite a large percentage of your mind.”

Newt jerked his hands away from his forehead, his face flushing. “Just go on, Shucker. What are you gonna do to Tommy?” 

“The final Candidate holds the missing piece to complete the data for the blueprint,” Doctor Christensen said, “But we had no way to tell until we monitored the patterns against the Variables. Vivisection will give us our final data, your systems functioning properly while we do it. Not that you’ll feel any pain- we’ll heavily sedate you until...” He did not finish. He did not need to.

Newt’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out.

Thomas could hardly speak either. He had faced death countless times, but always with the hope that there would be something to look forward to after it all. Some rescuer, some escape. But this was it. Today, it was either accept his own death, or accept that Newt would never be cured, and the Cranks would destroy everything. 

“Thomas?” Janson asked, “I know this must come as quite a shock to you—” 

“Oh, just stop talking!” Newt cut him off, jumping to stand between Thomas and Ratman. “I ain't lettin’ you touch Tommy. I don’t care about my own life. I’ve accepted there’s no cure, and for all it's worth, nothing’s changed.”

“Step aside, Crank.”

“You really think you can take on the full strength of a Crank so near the Gone?” Newt’s hands spasmed as he raised them, circling the air just inches from Janson’s neck. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not immune to bullets. I can have the guards here before you get ten steps out that door, with Thomas or without him. At least this way, one of you can live.”

“And that one will be Tommy!” The veins in his forehead stood dark against his clammy skin. “Even if you call the guards, they won’t get here in time to stop me from snappin’ your neck like a twig.” 

“Call off your pet, Thomas!” Janson raised his hands, staring at Thomas helplessly over Newt’s shoulder. 

“Don’t call him that,” Thomas hissed, but he stood anyway, laying a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Newt jerked away from him as if his touch burned.

“Newt, I want you to live.”

“You know what I am, Tommy,” Newt did not turn to look at him. “I’m holdin' off the Crank for now, but I lose control, I might kill you too. I will not live or die with your blood on my hands.”

“Stop, Newt, don’t say that!” 

“For once in your life, Tommy, accept that somethin’ is a lost cause!” Newt turned then, staring at Thomas with wide brown eyes beneath his matted bangs. _“I’m_ a lost cause. ‘Have been for a long time.” He gestured down at his leg, a muscle in his jaw feathering. 

“As touching as this is,” Janson’s face appeared over Newt’s shoulder. Because Newt was taller, he had to rise on his tiptoes. “Don’t you want to understand why the physical makeup of your brain allows it to resist the Flare virus’s power, while his,” he jerked his head at Newt, “can not?

“I think I will be dead before my curiosity is satisfied,” Thomas replied dryly. 

“Hey, I have a question,” Newt spoke up, jerking his shoulder so it struck against Rat Man's chin. 

He ignored him. “Even if you are, Thomas, don't the benefits outweigh the costs? We ran the trials the way we did so we didn’t have to cut everyone open. As you know, WICKED is good.” 

“I’ve got a question,” Newt repeated, slightly louder than before. 

“Thomas, do you need a minute? I know this is difficult, and I assure you we don’t take it lightly. What we’re asking for is a huge sacrifice. Will you donate your brain to science? Will you allow us to put the final pieces of the puzzle together? Take another step toward a cure for the good of the human race?” 

Thomas’s thoughts raced, the words blurring together.

After everything, all they needed was one more death? His death?

“Shuck it, Rat Man!” Newt snapped, so loudly that Thomas’s thoughts stopped altogether, “Answer my bloody question!"

Janson gave a dramatic sigh, his tone patronizing, “Alright, Crank, what’s your question?”

"Thomas is immune, right? And I’m not?”

“Yes,” Doctor Christensen rolled his eyes.

“So if he’s immune, and I’m not, why would what makes him immune just exist in his brain? Wouldn’t it be a gene or somethin’? I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure it’s genetics that gives you resistance to the buggin’ disease, and genetics that cause your brain to have the make-up it bloody does. Somethin’ deep in my memories tells me that I was taught that klunk once. Natural selection, right?” Newt scratched at his chin, his eyes surprisingly clear, “So shouldn’t you shuck-faces be workin’ towards isolatin’ that gene, instead of sitting here yappin’ about killing Tommy? I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that when somebody’s brain comes out, it stops sendin’ off brainwaves and the like. So any bloody blueprint would be lost when Tommy dies. And you only got one Tommy. So if you screw this one up, you won’t be gettin’ another shot.”

Janson and the other doctors looked at each other, faces unreadable.

Thomas, on the other hand, was impressed. Newt had made a fair point.

“Newton is right,” the voice came from behind them. 

Thomas whipped around to see a blonde woman standing at the door. She wore no makeup on her plain face and wore no heels, but she somehow seemed at the same time taller and more formal than anyone else in the room. Her name badge read _WICKED Management, Chancellor Ava Paige._

Thomas’s jaw dropped. So this was Ava Paige!

“Janson, our board of directors went back over the data and agreed this wasn’t the only way,” Ava said, “When I found out that Thomas had come to this location, I knew I had to be quick to stop his death.” She pulled out a third chair and sat, thrusting a manila folder into Janson’s hands and steepling her fingers together. 

Janson rifled through the pages, his beady eyes scanning the contents. “It just might work.”

“Using the Variables and the blood we have drawn from each of our test subjects, we were able to isolate the gene. Theoretically, if we have some way to spread the gene for immunity throughout the body, and into the blood vessels in the brain, the patient’s white blood cells will pick up the immunity and be able to fight it. However, because I had to rush here, the idea is currently unfinished. We have yet to come up with a way to spread something that quickly through the body. Simply injecting it is not enough. The gene needs a carrier.”

They were so close, yet so far. Thomas bit his lip. _Come on._ He had once been a scientist. Surely he could solve this problem.

 _Something that spreads quickly throughout the body..._

“I’ve got it!” he sat up straighter, “We spread the cure to the virus with another virus. Then when the viruses share DNA, they’ll share the gene.”

“That just might work,” Doctor Christensen said, looking thoughtful, “We have samples of nearly every virus known to man in the lab here. After all, even viruses can get viruses.”

“Chickenpox!” Janson held up the file triumphantly, “According to the files, Subject A5—I mean Newt— has never had chickenpox or been vaccinated against it. Everyone knows chickenpox stays in your body forever. He’s going to have a miserable case of chickenpox, and possibly Shingles later, but if he lives long enough to get Shingles, I'll consider this experiment a success." 

“I’m going to get what?” Newt’s tone was incredulous. 

“This has never been successfully done before, but then again, never has a disease of this scale had people with complete genetic immunity without ever having been exposed to such a virus before,” Ava Paige tapped the file in Jansen’s hands. “Let’s do it. Grab the crank.”

Newt himself offered up his arms to be grabbed, but as the doctor's touched him, he lurched, writhing in their grasp. 

“Stop struggling,” Doctor Wright snapped, doubling her grip.

“I’m trying to!” his eyes went wide as his muscles spasmed, his legs thrashing too erratically to be something he was controlling. “Shuck it, it’s eatin’ at my brain, I- Let me go, just let me go! Before I hurt one of you!" 

The doctor's released him, exchanging a glance with one another. 

Crumpling to the cold tile floor, Newt curled into a ball, pressing trembling hands to his forehead. 

Thomas dropped to his knees beside him and grabbed at his shoulder. “Newt?”

“It hurts, Tommy.” Newt’s voice sounded broken. Tears leaked from his closed eyes. “It’s an itch, a clawing or a chewing. With every bite there’s less of me inside me.” 

“It’s still you, Newt.”

He surged upright, his hand locking around Thomas’s wrist. His frantic eyes searched Thomas's, tears streaming freely down his hollow cheeks. “But for how much longer? How much more time do I have before there’s nothing left?” His head fell forward onto Thomas’s chest, and he could feel tears seeping through his shirt. “Cure me or kill me, I don’t bloody care anymore. Just do somethin' before it forces me to hurt you.” He looked up at Thomas, tear tracks smeared over his dirty face. His mouth stretched, cracked lip beginning to ooze blood. “Listen to me, Tommy. If I kill you, it will send me past the Gone for good.”

"You won't. I know you won't."

A full body tremor passed through Newt's emaciated body. "Bloody hell. When was the last time I had water?" He coughed, glancing around at the doctors. No one made any move to get him any.

"Oh, what the hell. I'll be dead either way soon enough." Newt craned his head back to give Ava Paige a nod. “Just do it.”

“I can get the gene inserted into a strand of chickenpox DNA in ten minutes tops,” Doctor Christensen said, grabbing the folder and flipping through it until he came to a picture Thomas knew was the double helix of DNA. He tapped a point on the page. “Is this the gene?”

“That’s the one,” Ava Paige nodded. 

Janson nodded and turned to Thomas. “Thomas, you go with Christensen. Newton, you’re with me. No Crank stuff, or I will call someone to shoot you with a Launcher point blank.” 

Newt pulled himself upright, using Thomas to steady himself, before giving Jansen a sarcastic two fingered salute. 

"Whatever you say, _Rat Man."_

\---

Doctor Christensen’s lab was exactly what Thomas expected: decorated with complex posters of human organs and filled with sterilized scientific devices whose functions he could not even begin to understand, sickly under the wash of medical lights. 

Thomas nodded and pushed up his sleeve, trying not to think about how needles had once meant The Changing. He barely felt the prick of it. Watching his blood run up the tube, he felt detached. Empty, even as he was emptied out. 

Taking several vials full of it, Doctor Christensen walked past him to the shelves at the far side of the room, labeled ‘Warning: Contagious viruses. Store properly,’ and filled with pitri dishes. He rifled through the shelves until he came to the one he wanted, marked _Chickenpox: vaccine existent, curable._

Thomas tried not to look at the dish at the very front.

_The Flare: Vaccine nonexistent, incurable as of now.’_

He had to focus on the _as of now._ This was why he was here at all

Finally, Doctor Christensen held up the petri dish jubilantly. “I have it! All that remains now is to inject it into your friend and see what happens.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken exactly one infectious disease course in my life, and I'm only two weeks into it. That's the only apology I can give for my mediocre medical knowledge, but hey! James Dashner fudged the truth too, with the existence of the Munies!


	3. The One Where They Test The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With new ideas in tow, WICKED and Thomas try to cure Newt for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if the first Maze Runner book takes place in 2020, and Newt was 17, that means that he was born in 2003, and Thomas was born in 2004. 
> 
> This child is not old enough to drink but he is old enough to help design a death maze and then fight monsters inside of said death maze?! 
> 
> Anyhow, my mind is blown with this fact.

They had moved Newt into an operating room.

Thomas chest tightened at the sight of his friend, strapped down from head to toe, trying in vain to move his arms enough to rub at what appeared to be a headache. 

“We have it,” Thomas told Rat Man, unable to look Newt in the eye. 

“Very well.” He nodded to the Doctor, “Do it.”

An awestruck silence fell over the room as Doctor Christensen stepped towards Newt, needle in hand. 

Everything hinged on what would happen next. 

Suddenly Newt stiffened, frantic eyes rolling between the syringe and Thomas’s face. “Tommy? What are they doing to me?” His voice held the plaintive tone of a scared child.

“They’re curing you, Newt. Just relax.”

“Oh?” The single syllable held a lifetime of rage, such a sudden shift in emotion that Thomas's heart nearly stopped. “Like you did, when those exact same people were experimenting on me? On Minho? On Alby and Chuck?” His back arched, straining against the bonds. “You’re the same as them, if you let this happen to me again!” Another shift in tone. "Please, Tommy, don't let them do this. I'm scared." He choked on his own breath, a sob hiccuping in his chest, " _I'm scared."_

“Give me the needle,” Thomas ordered, Doctor Christensen holding out his hand. “I can give it to him. He’s my friend.”

A bitter laugh split the air. “I’m sorry, Tommy, did you forget that you were one of the people who locked me in the bloody Maze for two buggin’ years! What’s this to you?” Newt motioned towards his leg, “Think that was funny, did you? Fun, watchin’ me fall to my bloody death? Now you’re gonna shoot me up with who knows what, well I ain’t gonna do it!” 

“Come on, Newt. You have to trust me.” It was like talking to two different Newts. 

“Why?” He chewed at his lip, hard enough that blood welled up between his teeth. His teeth were stained red when he spoke again. “Why, Thomas? Our entire bloody friendship was built on a lie! I don’t trust you, and I haven’t in a long time. Some wounds don’t heal, mate.” 

For once, Thomas knew he was not talking about his leg. 

“It’s the Flare talking. It causes bursts of anger, madness, and mistrust,” Janson said, “Do it.”

“Yeah, listen to him like you always have!” Newt spat, blood trickling down his chin. “Let me get one thing straight Tommy. You used me, for your stupid WICKED schemes, and I used you, just the same. It was only ever about getting out of the Maze. How could I ever be friends with the person who took everything from me? My family, my mind, my body, my friends! They’re all gone because of you!” 

Every word landed like a punch to the gut. _He doesn’t mean it,_ Thomas told himself, wishing he could believe it. “They took everything from me too, Newt,” he managed to croaked out, his voice trembling. “I can’t let you be taken from me too. I’m sorry.”

A sharp gasp rent the air as the needle pierced Newt’s arm. Thomas was not sure whether Newt had made the noise or he had. His hands trembled as he pushed the plunger down. 

“Now all we have to do is wait.” Doctor Christensen announced. “I took the liberty of placing one of our scanners into the solution. It will monitor the position of the immunity cells and the amount of The Flare virus inside his brain. Current ratio of infected brain tissue to healthy brain tissue, 42%”

Almost half. Thomas’s insides felt cold. Only 8% of Newt's brain had stood between him and the Gone. 

“How long until the immunity reaches his brain?” he asked.

“It depends on how fast the Crank’s heart is beating,” Janson said, “Anywhere from ten to thirty minutes.”

Thomas knelt next to the Crank in question. Newt’s eyes had closed, and Thomas wasn’t sure if his friend could hear him. But all he wanted to do was apologize. 

It was all he could do. Apologize, and tell Newt how much he meant to him.

Tell him why he could not die. 

\---

Thomas’s knees were numb on the tile and his voice was hoarse by the time anyone else in the room spoke.

“It’s reached his brain,” Doctor Christensen murmured, staring down at his scanner. 

Thomas pushed himself to his feet. “So that’s it? He’s cured?”

Janson shook his head. “No. The immune cells aren’t aware the Flare is present yet. Your Crank passed out, and most of his brain is dormant." 

“How do we make them aware?” Thomas somehow knew he wouldn’t like the answer. 

“Essentially, we have to force every infected piece of his brain to activate at once.”

“And we can’t just wake him up?”

Doctor Wright shook her head. “We have to shock his brain using electricity. If all goes well, then the cells that are immune inside his bloodstream should become aware of The Flare’s presence and begin work decontaminating the infected areas.” 

“And if all doesn’t go well?” Thomas asked.

Doctor Wright’s eyes were somber. “The excited Flare virus will spread at a rapid pace. His brain will be completely consumed in seconds.”

Janson clapped him on the shoulder, a mockery of friendly behavior. “It’s this or we take out your brain, _Tommy_. And then Newton isn’t cured.”

“Fine.”

Doctor Christensen secured a heart rate monitor around Newt’s limp wrist. 

The steady beep of his pulse reassured Thomas. His friend was still alive and strong, even if he was slowly going insane.

“Heart rate normal.” A brief pause. “For a Crank.” 

“Alright,” Janson said, “Doctor Wright, the electrodes please.” 

The thin copper wires in question were carefully glued to Newt’s forehead. 

"The infected area has gone up. 43% of the brain is now infected.” 

_Hurry. Please hurry,_ Thomas silently begged.

“Okay, electricity added... _Now!”_

Newt's head slammed back against the table as the electricity coursed through his body, but his eyes did not open. 

“Electricity removed, observation period in progress.”

“What does that mean?” 

“Talk to him, Thomas,” Rat Man replied, sounding exasperated. “See if he responds.”

“Hey, Newt,” Thomas reached for his pale hand. “You okay?”

At his touch, Newt’s eyes fluttered open, and they were the most amazing thing Thomas had seen all day. 

His friend was alive. 

And then Newt's hand clamped down on Thomas's, gripping so tightly that he could feel his bones grinding together. 

He sucked in a frantic breath, his spine twisting up off the operating table, skin rubbing raw beneath the bonds. His eyes, still locked on Thomas’s were bloodshot. As Thomas watched, the pupils shrank to pinpricks. 

“Infected area going up at a rapid pace! 45% of brain now infected! 46%, 47, 49, And he’s past the Gone and rising. 51, 54—”

Thomas closed his eyes. _This can’t be happening._

Newt’s eyes rolled back into his head as he writhed. One of the restraints ripped free, and he pressed his hand against his forehead, his mouth opening in a silent scream—

“56, 58, 60, 64, 68...” 

The heart rate monitor rose at a frightening pace, until the regular beeps were an indistinguishable mess of noise.

“73, 77, 82...”

“No,” Thomas felt numb, “No!”

“88, 94, 98...” 

And then it was over. 

Everything was silent. 

Newt lay still.

Thomas’s legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed to the floor, the void in his stomach threatening to consume him. His hand, still gripping Newt’s, was completely numb, yet he found he could not let go. 

He had just lost his best friend. Again. His vision blurred, and tears streaked down his cheeks, hot enough to scald. 

He had been given hope. 

That was the worst part. 

He had been given hope that Newt would live, and it all had fallen apart. 

Not like Chuck, where he had never thought to hope for as he lay dying. Of course he had begged him to stay with him, but that was different. 

Thomas had been so sure that he could save Newt. Save the world.

And gone.

Past the Gone. 

Burying his eyes in his free hand, Thomas wept. He could not stop shaking, gasping for breath that would not come. He clung onto Newt's hand like a lifeline, the only one he had left. What did he have left? The Right Arm? Teresa would not talk to him. Minho was in some distant city. And Chuck and Alby and Winston and Bart and Jack and Jeff and Zart and so many whose names he did not even know and Newt and Newt and _Newt._

His mouth opened in a soundless cry, heaving past his lips like a living thing. 

Then came the light pressure on his fingers.

A squeeze. Barely there.

Soft enough that he knew, just _knew_ it was his imagination playing tricks on him. 

And then there was the first beep.

Thomas’s head jerked up so fast he was certain he would have whiplash later. It did not matter. 

Another beep. This one louder and longer. 

“So he’s alive,” Janson’s voice held a note of wonder, just barely louder than the heart rate monitor. “What’s his infected to healthy brain tissue ratio?” 

“99%, 98%, It’s going down. It’s going down! 93%, 92%—”

“A cure? Is this a cure?” Doctor Wright asked, her voice as shocked as Thomas felt. 

“88, 87, 86, 84, 82, 80, 78, 74, 70, 66, 62, 56, 50, 44, 38! It’s lower than the original number! It’s working!” 

Thomas pressed a hand against Newt’s chest, trying to feel his heartbeat for himself. It was faint beneath his fingers. Far stronger was the steady rise and fall of his chest. Definitely alive. _He was alive._

As Thomas watched, his eyes cracked open, just long enough for him to see his pupils seemed normal. 

“Tommy, my head—” And he threw his head back against the table again as his muscles tensed, blood running from his nose. 

“Shuck it, Newt! Not now!” He had survived a suicide attempt, Grievers, the lightbulb monsters in the scorch, it couldn’t end like _this!_

“No, false alarm, going back down. It’s fighting it, definitely fighting! Seems to be working, going down. Still going down. 34, 26, 18—”

Thomas held his breath, crossing his fingers like he could not remember doing. He definitely had not done so since he had arrived in the Maze, what felt like a lifetime ago.

“10%, 8%—”

“Please, Newt.” Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, cradling Newt’s limp hand against his own chest. 

“5%—”

_“Please.”_

“And that’s zero,” Ava Paige whispered, the first words she had spoken since the treatment had began.

No one dared to breathe. 

“So that’s it? He’s cured?” Thomas asked, before the silence could choke him. 

“The immunity genes worked, if that’s what you’re asking. Now all that remains is to inject the Flare back into his body and see if the genes fight it off.”

Doctor Christensen produced a needle full of the deadly disease, which they jabbed into Newt’s arm. 

“He’s still at zero!”

The immunity genes were working. 

The Flare was curable.

“It’s cured!” 

“We can save the whole human race now! The whole planet!” 

Thomas had never seen adults freak out over things like this, and if he was completely honest, it was weird. 

He had more excuse to be giddy than anyone— he had his best friend back, yet all he was doing was grinning like an idiot, he wasn’t jumping up and down yelling ‘Eureka!’ or anything.

Ignoring both Doctor Wright and Doctor Christensen, who were hugging each other and laughing, he poked Newt in the arm. “You alive, man?”

Newt’s eyes cracked open an inch. “Still bloody here somehow.”

Thomas quickly loosened his bonds and helped him up. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was hit with a buggin’ truck,” Newt grimaced, “But it’s no longer eating at my brain, the itch- that constant itch I told you about- it’s gone." He threw his arms around Thomas, squeezing him tight. "It’s gone!”

“That’s great," Thomas buried his head in Newt's shoulder and murmured into his ear, "but now I need you to come with me.”

“Why?”

Thomas reached into his pocket, pulling the petri dish full of altered Chickenpox virus free just enough to show Newt, then reached into his other pocket for the Right Arm device. “We’re gonna get this to Right Arm so they can cure the populace,” he whispered, “But first we’re gonna storm WICKED. headquarters. That way they can’t hurt anyone else. This device is going to take out all of their weapons. I promised Right Arm I’d help them do it.”

Newt nodded, smiling shakily. “Let’s get this bloody device planted. This place needs remodelin’ anyway.”


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, you get four chapters, but this one is really short!  
> Thank you for reading! <3 
> 
> xo Aceupmyownsleeve

WICKED Memorandum, Date 232.4.10, Time 12:45

To: My Associates

From: Ava Paige, Chancellor 

Re: Success and a new beginning

We have, at last, discovered a cure.

The Variables have come together in a way that many would say negates the Trials completely, but it is only because of these trials that the cure was uncovered in the first place, as they established the bond between subjects A2 and A5 that ultimately resulted in the world being saved. If either of them had been willing to let the other die, then the events leading up to the discovery of the cure would never have occurred.

It is through their friendship that we can now begin the distributary process.

Additionally, after destroying much of our Colorado headquarters, Subject A2 escaped with this cure and passed it on to an organization working against us, known to many as the Right Arm.

They will also distribute this cure, and in spite of our rivalry, we must admit that through their actions, many more will be saved. As they always say, two organizations distributing a cure to the pandemic is far better than one.

We have saved the world, and although many may despise our methods, I believe we ultimately did what we had to do.

I do not know how history will judge he actions of WICKED, but I state here for the record that organization only ever had one goal, and that was to preserve the human race.

In finding a cure, we have done just that.

As we tried to instill in each of our subjects over and over, WICKED is good.


End file.
